


Under my hand the moonlight lay

by lbmisscharlie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbmisscharlie/pseuds/lbmisscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m so happy for you,” Janine says. She wants too much from Mary to call her her best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under my hand the moonlight lay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).



> Mini-fic from prompt. Title taken from Edna St. Vincent Millay's "The Dream":
> 
> Under my hand the moonlight lay!   
>  Love, if you laugh I shall not care,   
> But if I weep it will not matter,—  
>  Ah, it is good to feel you there!

“You’ll need to lean forward.” Mary does, bending at the hip, the long rope of her spine curling. Janine grasps the edges of the basque, brings them together, does up the hooks. Mary’s breathing is shallow; Janine’s too heavy for the small room. She pats Mary on the waist. The satin is soft under her hands, warm already from Mary’s body.

“There. All ready.” She risks a look up, finally, to meet Mary’s eyes in the mirror. Mary’s lip quirks up. 

“You don’t think I need a dress, then?” 

Janine laughs. It’s a relief, and comes out too loud. “They say the bride should try to make a statement.” Mary lifts one eyebrow, and something drops in Janine’s gut. 

_(Mary’s eyebrow lifts, pale glinting blonde in the low light. “Do you want to?” she says, just before she leans in and cups her hand around the nape of Janine’s neck, tangled in her hair. Janine’s still nodding as their lips meet.)_

Janine drops her gaze, under the cover of turning to lift the dress from where it hangs next to the mirror. She can go slowly – the buttons are fiddly – which means Mary can’t see her hands shake. Once unbuttoned, she opens the dress and lowers it, holding it open for Mary to step in. Sensible pantyhose, reinforced toe, cotton knickers with a lace hem; Janine lifts the dress up over Mary’s hips. Mary’s only concession to the tradition of bridal lingerie is her damask basque, golden cream color to match her gown and edged with soft lace which brushes Janine’s fingers as she settles the gown. 

There are a lot of buttons, and they start very, very low, at the rise of Mary’s arse. Janine starts, determinedly, lifting the fabric away from Mary’s body under pretense of getting a better angle. She’s made it just to the small of Mary’s back, where the gown tightens and under Janine’s fingers she can feel the slow rise and fall of Mary’s breath when Mary says, “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Janine keeps her gaze low, on the buttons. “I don’t know how you’d get these buttons done, otherwise.”

Mary’s laugh is only a short huff of breath. “I care about you,” she says, and, “you’re my dearest friend.” The inside corners of Janine’s eyes burn. 

“I’m so happy for you,” Janine says. She wants too much from Mary to call her her best friend. They both stay quiet while she finishes the buttons. 

“There,” Janine says finally, and drags her eyes to the mirror. Mary watches her, sharply, but as their eyes catch her gaze goes soft. The shift sends something cold down Janine’s spine. “You’re beautiful,” she says, to cover her disorientation. 

“Thanks, love,” Mary says, to her face in the mirror. “Help me with the veil?”


End file.
